Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
This woman. This fucking woman. She’d dropped everything. Her whole life, her dreams and ambitions were on hold…for me. A hot tear leaked from the corner of my closed eye, rolled onto my nose.
I nodded.
“I’m coming a little closer,” she said, the feet of her chair scraping the laminate. “Right, let’s do it in stages. First, you’re just going to sit up on the edge of the bed. I’m going to count really slowly. Do it with me, and then…go. Just, go.”
My breath quickened, panic setting in. Fuck. Okay.
“Slower, Hugo.”
Okay. Okay. I could hear Helen breathing. Slow. Deep. I tried to mirror it.
“One…two…”
Three…do it. I blacked out my mind, refused to let a single thought or image enter, and propelled myself upright, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress.
Somehow, I felt Helen’s beautiful smile. “You’re going to open your eyes now. One…two…three…”
Do it. My eyes opened to the perfect picture. Helen’s gorgeous face was waiting for me, inches away, green eyes glinting, smile comforting. “Hey, you,” she mouthed.
My head dropped to hers automatically, my skin needing hers. My hands found her hair, soft between my fingers. She smelled amazing. Like coconut. I inhaled deeper.
“I want to stay here, just like this, forever,” I said.
Her head bowed as she sighed a sad sigh. “You can’t. You need to get better.”
“I don’t know if I can.” I’d almost kept the thought in my head, but keeping secrets had landed me here in the first place.
“Better at fighting, is what I meant. Depression is a war you can’t win alone. Those feelings only thrive in secrecy. You know that.”
I nodded, just a little.
“Can I touch your face?”
I nodded again, waited for the touch. She cupped my cheek. I nuzzled her palm. Her skin felt nice. Comforting.
“You told me once, a long time ago, that sometimes, being you felt like being colour blind while having to listen to everyone tell you how colourful the world was. Well, I need you to know, without you my world would be black as hell. And I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, but if you ever get to that point again where you’re searching for one thing to pull you back…let that be it. Think of this moment and believe it, believe that even on your darkest days you’re the brightest thing in my life.”
Throat clogged with emotion, I nodded, held her hand tighter to my cheek. I had to fight. I had to fight for myself. For Helen. For us.
“I’m in love with you, Hugo Michael Hayes. I’ve been in love with you since you were an awkward young boy with snotty sleeves, and I’ll be in love with you till you’re an awkward old man with shrivelled tattoos and incontinence pads.”
I’m in love with you, too. So much. I just couldn’t say it. Not right then, not while my mind was broken and my throat was closed. Instead, I brought her hand to my lips, kissed it.
“One…two…” she began.
Fuck. Here we go.
“Three…”
Do it. Gripping Helen’s hand as if it was the only thing keeping me upright, I forced one foot in front of the other, refused to think, wouldn’t look around, didn’t stop until we’d reached the car. This was it. The base of the mountain…
And I was fucking terrified.
One week later…
An oak coffee table and a vase full of white gerbera daisies separated Phoebe, my therapist, and me. The water needed topping up, I noticed. They’d wilt soon. Phoebe’s eyes were on me, I could feel them. Glaring with that shrink-like stare from behind her oval glasses. They all did it. I think we fascinated them, us crazy types. Every therapist, counsellor, nut doctor I’d ever seen had looked at me the same way I looked at a sheet of music, like they itched to take it apart, tinker with it, delve between the layers, turn it into something functioning and beautiful.
“It’s been five days since our first meeting,” Phoebe said, breaking the silence that, surprisingly, didn’t feel awkward. I’d found Phoebe’s company remarkably…easy. From the start I’d felt no pressure to perform. Our first session, I didn’t talk at all, just listened. She’d caught on quickly and stopped asking questions, spoke at me instead. I appreciated that. Maybe the ten grand a week did make a difference.
“Yeah.”
“You were told to continue to monitor yourself for any signs of hypoxic brain injury. How are you feeling in that regard?”
Tense, I rubbed at my shoulder. I didn’t like talking about this part. I found it shameful, I suppose, discussing the damage I’d inflicted on myself. “I’m, uh, not sleeping great…but that could be the unfamiliar surroundings, you know. And, um, well I’ve got a little shakiness in my left hand. Comes and goes.” I held onto that hand, massaged my fingers, even though they weren’t shaking at the minute. The act distracted me from the embarrassment, and also the fear that the damage could be permanent.